


This Twisted Sense of Belonging

by Pax_2735



Series: While The Earth Sleeps [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Episode: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pax_2735/pseuds/Pax_2735
Summary: After Bran’s revelation, Sansa and Jon speak. Added scene to season 8 episode 4 ‘The Last of the Starks’





	This Twisted Sense of Belonging

The knock on the door is incredibly soft, a mere grazing of knuckles against the weathered wood. She knows it’s unlikely that he’ll even hear it, that he is most likely asleep given the late hour – and whether or not he is alone is something she refuses to dwell on at the moment – but still she waits. It has taken her this long to gather even this tiny sliver of courage, she won’t back down until she can at least say she tried.

She hears noises coming from inside and draws in a breath as he opens the door. He looks surprised to see her, though she cannot fault him for that, but there is a myriad of emotions lurking in the shadows of his eyes. Anger, hurt, those she can easily understand. There’s a lingering sadness there that can readily be attributed to his impending departure come morning.

Everything else is far too complicated to dwell upon right now, when it’s the middle of the night and she’s standing at the door to his chambers.

“Did I wake you?”

He shakes his head with a sigh and steps to the side in an unspoken invitation. Her steps lead her to the blazing hearth, her mind conjuring up images of another time she when was here with him. The picture of a good, doting sister, even as she knows that’s not the truth.

He closes the door but doesn’t move away from it, his grey eyes following her movements keenly and she wonders if he’s remembering the same thing. He was drunk then, and even though it doesn’t serve as an excuse, it was more than what they have right now. The air between them is becoming charged, as it always does when it’s just them. She considers if that will ever change as everything else seems to have.

“Is everything alright?” His voice sounds tired but his body is taut and filled with tension, his eyes sharp as he stares at her. He’s readying himself for a fight, she realizes.

“Yes, everything… everything is fine.” She tucks a lock of red hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she thought she had abandoned long ago, during the endless days and nights in King’s Landing when compliance and detachment had been her weapons of survival. “I’ve been thinking about what Bran told us. I know I didn’t say anything at the time…” She falters, unsure of what she wants to say, and looks towards him, wanting to see his reaction.

He’s standing perfectly still, as if waiting to see where she’s going with this. His face is perfectly schooled into a mask of indifference and he blinks a few times to hide the emotions in his eyes. He’s getting good at this.

Things aren’t alright between them, they haven’t been ever since he came back from the South with a Targaryen queen at his side. She knows she’s being petty but she misses the way it was before, when it was just them, when in spite of being at odds with one another more often than not, there was never this chasm between them. She misses _him_ , she realizes, and she can’t bear the thought that he’ll leave again with the way things are.

“I know I should have said something. Asked how you felt about all of this.” He narrows his eyes but doesn’t otherwise move. She takes a deep breath before continuing. “I wanted to tell you that Arya is right. This doesn’t change anything.”

He scoffs, finally moving away from the door. He walks past her, keeping his back turned and she hurries on, desperately trying to make him understand. “It doesn’t Jon. It doesn’t matter, none of it. You’re still one of us, you’re still family. Regardless of who you are by birth, you’ll always be a Stark.”

“I’ve never been a Stark.” He turns abruptly and cuts her off sharply and she shakes at the vehemence in his voice. “Don’t you see? My whole life all I ever wanted was to be a Stark. I wanted to be one of you, to belong.” He stops and takes a shuddering breath, his eyes searching for hers, and she trembles at the pain she sees there.

“You know what’s the last thing Father’s ever said to me, when we parted on the King’s Road?” He looks haunted by the memories, the image of the only father he had ever known. “He promised me that the next time we spoke he’d tell me about my mother.” He runs a shaky hand over his face before turning towards the hearth. “Do you know how many nights I lay awake wondering about her, about where she was and whether or not she missed me? How much time I spent hoping I’d get to meet her someday?”

She knows she’s crying, tears descending upon her cheeks and leaving a salty taste on her lips, but she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. All she cares about right now is him, the lost little boy he once was and the man he is right now, pained and vulnerable. “I’m so sorry Jon.”

He stares at the crackling fire as though the flames beckon to him, calling to the dragon inside. “He should have told me. I mean, I know why he didn’t but I—“

“You had the right to know.” She doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know how to take any of this pain away and make him feel whole again and so she steps forward and wraps her arms around his shoulders. He tenses for a moment but then he turns, wrapping his arms around her and hiding his face in the crook of her neck. It’s reminiscent of their first meeting at Castle Black, when they had found each other again after being alone for so long, but there’s a different kind of desperation to it. She feels his tears on her skin and she’s certain he feels hers as well.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there, hours or mere moments. She only moves after his tears have dried and she feels his arms unwind from around her to settle over the curve of her waist. It feels incredibly intimate but he makes no move to pull away.

“Everything has changed.” He states and again she wants to reassure him that that isn’t the case but one look into his eyes and she knows they are speaking of something else entirely. He lifts up a hand to gently trace the contours of her face. “I’m not your brother.”

He lets his hands drop slightly to settle over her hips and she watches as his eyes flicker to her mouth for a moment. She licks her suddenly dry lips, unconscious of what she’s doing, and watches in fascination as his eyes darken to black pools. She has seen that look on countless other faces, but none of them ever made her respond like this. There’s a familiar coiling in the pit of her stomach, the heat growing and drawing tighter until she feels like she can’t breathe. His eyes move back across her face, his gaze locking with hers.

There’s a question there, one she cannot find the words to answer, so she steps forward, her body molding against his, and her hands move away from his chest and his rapidly beating heart to settle on his neck. Her fingers find purchase in the dark curls there, tugging slightly, and he takes a shuddering breath before dropping his head to hers.

There’s a crackling in the fire and they both startle as a loud screeching sound is heard outside. The dragons have been growing restless ever since the battle against the army of the dead and tonight is no exception, the flapping of giant wings a stark contrast against the otherwise silent night. In the distance, she can hear the remaining Dothraki beginning to cheer at the unconscious display of their queen’s strength and it’s enough to bring her back to her senses.

Whatever unspoken feelings exist between them must remain so. He has made his choice and so must she. She won’t endanger the North for this.

She steps away from him, hoping that this small distance between them will help to clear some of the fog inside her mind. A shuddering breath passes through her lips as she tries to steady herself, watching with hooded eyes as he struggles to do the same. She knows he won’t endanger the North either.

She speaks as softly as she can muster, even if her heart is still racing, and she’s surprised at how steady she sounds. “You are not my brother, no. But you’re still family.” She places her hands on his face and pulls him towards her, kissing his forehead with only a ghost of a touch. “Please be safe in the south. Be happy.” Her voice catches at the last word and she hastily turns away, a flurry of skirts and rustling fabric as she makes her way towards the door.

She almost makes it. Her hand reaches the knob just as she feels more than hears him move and suddenly he’s there behind her, one hand braced against the door, preventing her escape. He doesn’t touch her but it makes little difference. There’s nothing but a tiny sliver of air between them and she can feel the heat of his body against hers, feel his breath as it pushes past his parted lips and caresses her skin.

“You want to know what I felt when I found out the truth?” His voice is low and rough and laced with a tint of anger, spoken close enough to the shell of her ear to make her shudder. “I felt angry. I felt betrayed.” Her head tilts slightly to the side so she can look at him, but his gaze is fixed straight forward. “I felt sadness.” He turns his head to her, finally meeting her eyes. “Most of all, I felt relieved.”

Her heart falters in her chest and she’s sure she stops breathing for a moment. She’s ridiculously aware that she’s glad for the long sleeves of her dress, as he cannot see how her skin raises at that, how her whole body seems to come alive with those words.

She turns slowly, eyes downcast as she struggles to regain control of herself. She can’t help but notice the direwolves stitched upon his clothing and touches them fleetingly, as her eyes find their way up to his face.

He’s staring at her, his gaze unflinching, as if daring her to say something, to deny this, and she can clearly see the storm brewing inside those dark grey pools. She fears it will destroy them both.

She inches forward and watches him close his eyes, his breath faltering as she touches his face before placing a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth. “So did I,” she whispers and his eyes snap open. She can see his surprise at her quiet admission, the hunger and sheer want she is certain are mirrored in her own gaze. It would be so easy to just give in, to loose herself in this thing between them, to let it warm her, warm them, if only for a few hours –

The thought is enough to sober her. Come morning he _will_ leave, following his queen to the south, to fulfill a promise or his destiny, she’s not certain anymore. All she knows is that she will be alone once more, here in these halls where she’s surrounded by people.

She keeps her eyes on his as she forcefully brings reality back into these chambers. “Nothing has changed Jon.” He visibly flinches and she clamps her mouth shut, swallowing the words that are desperately trying to claw their way out.

He steps back from her as though she has hit him, his face betraying his confusion before settling back into the stony expression he’s been wearing more and more, ever since his return from Dragonstone. His arms drop to his side and suddenly she’s no longer caged by them – no longer surrounded by him. She’s free and she makes good use of it, swiftly turning around and stepping out of his chambers, her footsteps echoing across the empty hallways.

She fears for his return to the south, fears for what it will do to him. Starks don’t do so well there. But… perhaps a Targaryen will. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to find comfort in that.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [Pax_2735](https://pax-2735.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Come by and say hi!


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